


Until they drink the wine (and they will)

by Rilo



Category: All New X-Men (Comics), Dark Wolverine (Comics), Wolverines (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Amputation, Body Horror, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Underage Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rilo/pseuds/Rilo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short fic taking place in the X-Men comic universes, with potential appearances of other Marvel characters. Tags and characters will be added as the stories are posted, with appropriate warnings and pairings posted at the beginning of each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "He?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time-displaced Scott and Daken, a snippet of conversation about sexuality. Namely, Daken's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unprompted but still the fault of Jemisard. 
> 
> Warnings: implied/referenced homophobia, emotional manipulation, Daken's creepy internal commentary.

" _He?!_ "

The shock in the young man's voice is so adorable, Daken can barely keep himself from laughing right into his whiskey. Raising an eyebrow, he looks up into red lenses opaque enough that he can barely see the dark outline of Scott's eyes (the boy has such _lovely_ eyelashes for a man, pity he can't show them off), almost true circles for how wide they are.

" **He.** What, are you going to tell me this changes _everything_? You're better than that," he states evenly, leaning forward just enough to show his faith that Scott won't take advantage of being in arms-reach. At the same time his shoulders draw in slightly, his feet shifting under the table and his posture adjusting a fraction more toward the open end. Silence reigns for a heartbeat, during which Daken pretends he can't see the war playing out on the boy's face in a thousand minute twitches. The assurance in the older man's face wavers just a little; his smile dimming by a fraction, the muscles in his arms twitching, his thumb playing with the glass tumbler as though he can't hide his trepidation. 

"Of course it doesn't. You're my friend," Scott answers, his voice soft with uncertainty and guilt over the same. The set of Daken's shoulders relaxes and he laughs, just a little strained with the release of a well-feigned nervousness. "I'm glad to hear that," he answers, punctuating with a healthy swig of his whiskey. "You had me worried there for a minute."


	2. Camouflage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Jemisard; "Scott & Daken: Leather and Chrome." It turned out to contain more leather than chrome. An AU from Wolverines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: body horror/amputation, spoilers for Daken's injuries in Wolverines.

"You are _not_ wearing that jacket." 

The young man's hands fall away from the zipper with a heavy sigh. "What's wrong with the jacket," he asks, turning to face Daken. "You don't want me to wear my uniform, which is fine. This is a covert operation, we don't need to advertise the X-Men's involvement any more than my presence will. I have body armor without Xs on it. But where we're going is _cold_ , Daken, and this is one of the warmest jackets I have. You should be wearing one too."

"But it's not yours, is it?" Daken pulls himself out of the chair with one arm, ignoring the boy's last comment. If all goes well, tonight will be the last night he has to worry about frostbite. Young Scott's mouth turns downward, and he takes a quick breath-- "It's not my father's either," Daken interrupts with a wave of the hand, dismissing whatever Scott was about to say. "It doesn't stink of bad beer and worse women. It belongs to the other Scott, doesn't it? Fits too well in the waist, but you have some growing to do before the shoulders stop bagging."

"Are you telling me I look bad?" 

In response to the question Daken chuckles, though something about the tone in the younger man's voice strikes him as off. It's too dismissive, bland; he'd expected the boy to be insulted at the reminder of his age. Stepping forward into Scott's personal space, Daken tilts his head to lock eye with the young man's visor, steadfastly ignoring the reflection of his flat eyelid. "I'm telling you that you look like a lost. Little. **Lamb** in Daddy's leather jacket. You'll scream fresh meat in a pretty little wrapping."

When he leans in close enough for a lock of hair to brush Scott's forehead, he fully expects the young man to jerk away from the contact and the sharp leer Daken directs at him. Instead the boy's jaw sets. "Good," Scott says calmly, the word surprising enough that Daken straightens, blinking dumbly. "We need every advantage we can get, and I respect Laura too much to ask her to play that role."

"And she might stab you," Daken quips on autopilot, his brain trying to wrap its-self around an emotion that feels strangely like pride.

"And she might stab me," Scott agrees, zipping up the leather jacket. Turning, he scoops the keys off the end table. "Come on, we need to load the bike up and get in the air before the snowstorm hits."


End file.
